Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu Poems

What colour is faith? –
that piece of trust in the cyst of
our pummeled heart, which thrusts up
and down the internal frescoes of our
...

In her eyes
Colours of buntings add weight
To the branches of the wise
Trees that bear them in wait
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Her language fuses desire with bitter truth.
Early on she told us of the quest for salvation
Through gentle whiffs of collected muffled air
Which she didn’t expect the world to breathe in
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Last night,
Frescoes on night's sable wall dimmed.
I beheld a burning market.
Empty of wares, languages of sorrow
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The cruel laughter of the soul
Laments its flagellation by time,
Ebbed on the flattened stones of
A raped river.
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The webs are obstinate
And refuse a hug of the
Broomsticks, besmirched
By diluted coal tar.
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They come behind the scene
through convoluted images,
speaking truths in drones only.
...

Take this old yoke off me.
This crapulence let it fizzle
Out like wayward smoke
From a sleeping chimney.
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At sunset, orange frescos on the west wall
Sink gradually into the bowels of hills flung
By distant wavelengths of a backward illusion,
Which yells silently at concupiscent terns,
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Time reclines on the spine of whim,
Belching from the fullness of being
As it rises and falls on the strength
And weakness of age –
...